Black Lotus. K'wan
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department, so I called a buddy of mine who works for the feds. From the way he reacted you’d think I’d just asked him to help me whack the president. Officially, he refused to comment on the Black Lotus killings.”
“But unofficially?”
“Unofficially, he told me that the Black Lotus is an assassin rumored to be tied to the BHOB. You might know them as the Brotherhood of Blood.”
This surprised Wolf. He didn’t have any official information on the Brotherhood, but from what he’d heard they were a secret fraternity of assassins, who were hailed as the best of the best when it came to taking lives. The Brotherhood of Blood was alleged to be connected to some of the most infamous killings in American history, but they moved like ghosts, so law enforcement was never able to put anything other than speculation on paper about them. Their members were said to be composed of men from all walks of life, and none outside of the Brotherhood knew the true identities of its members.
“I’ve always thought tales of the Brotherhood were ghost stories to keep rookies on their toes,” Wolf said.
“Ghost stories don’t leave priests strung up like meat in a slaughterhouse.” Captain Marx glanced over at the murdered man.
Wolf turned his gaze as well to the mess that had been Father Fleming. He reassessed the crime scene, the chains, the worn wooden benches . . . the red baseball cap lying on the floor . . . He hadn’t noticed that cap at first because it was soaked in blood, and almost blended in with the bloody floor. Something about it tugged at his brain, but before he could dwell on it further, the captain broke his concentration.
“So, are you with me or what?”
Wolf weighed it. “Let’s say I go along with the theory that the priest was killed by someone from the Brotherhood. What does it have to do with me? It isn’t drug related, so why should I get involved? You said yourself that the department was stonewalling you and the feds don’t wanna talk about it, so why not just leave it alone? Or better yet, let those two idiots from homicide deal with it. I’m sure the department will be more inclined to lend their support to the donkeys than they would the wolf.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
“If I go to my superiors talking about secret societies and assassins, they’re likely to slap me in a white coat and lock me away somewhere. Brown and Alvarez are good cops, and given enough time I’m sure they’ll piece it together, but by then the shit will already have hit the fan and the Brotherhood will be in the wind. Once they’re called in to do a job, they don’t waste much time.”
“For someone who doesn’t know much about the Brotherhood, you seem pretty well informed as to their tactics,” Wolf said. It was more of an observation than an accusation, but it somehow felt like the latter.
Captain Marx shrugged. “You’re in the streets so you know how it goes. Sometimes you hear things. Listen, James, you know I wouldn’t come to you unless it was a last resort. I need someone I can trust to help me out on this one. I’m not asking as your captain, I’m asking as your friend.”
Wolf took a few minutes to mull over what Captain Marx was asking him. It would be a difficult case, with him having very little to go on, and obviously dangerous, but those were the elements that got Wolf out of bed every morning to put on his badge. “This could get very messy, captain,” he finally said.
“I’m sure it will, but I’ll make it worth your while. You crack this case and I’ll make all that Dutton business go away.”
Detective Richie Dutton had at one time been Wolf’s partner and mentor. They called him the Chameleon because of how fluidly he slipped from one criminal persona to the next. He was so good that sometimes it was hard to tell which side of the law he was really on. He taught Wolf how to survive working undercover cases by embracing the personas of the criminals they were tracking. When Wolf and Dutton were on the job they moved like rock stars, indulging in money, pussy, and drugs—and it was the drugs that eventually tore them apart.
Wolf dabbled in drugs when the job called for it, but Richie was over-the-top with it. He was notorious for his cocaine and alcohol binges. One night he had gotten coked up out of his mind and beat a prostitute they’d had working as a CI nearly to death. When she threatened to blow his cover, Richie decided that she had to go. Wolf had done some things that he wasn’t proud of while working undercover, but he wouldn’t sign off on cold-blooded murder. The two got into a heated argument over it and one thing led to another. When it was all said and done, Dutton and the CI ended up dead and Wolf was left to answer for the killings. In his report he said that Dutton had been high on drugs and trying to kill him, so he’d shot his partner in self-defense. The toxicology report confirmed that Detective Dutton had elevated levels of cocaine, marijuana, and alcohol in his system, and being that there were no witnesses, no charges were brought against Wolf. The shooting was ruled justified, though there were still some people who weren’t convinced.
“I was cleared of that,” Wolf replied.
“Yeah, for now. You think I don’t know that IAD is still sniffing around, trying to find a home for that dirty kill?”
“They can sniff all they want, but they won’t find anything,” Wolf replied confidently.
“Yeah, because it was me who taught you how to cover your tracks. Look, whether it went down the way you say it did or not isn’t my call to make. I’m not judging, but as long as you have that hovering over your head, your service record is going to always be tainted. I’m offering to wipe your slate clean. You might even be able to pull a promotion out of it if you solve the case.”
“And if I blow it?”
“If you blow it, some heads are going to roll, starting with yours. I’ll deny any knowledge of your investigation, but will do what I can to see that you’re not brought up on charges,” Captain Marx said flatly.
Wolf couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re one cold old bastard.”
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